Kwitch

One of my brothers had an inspired moment and sent his Christmas presents to us in February.  He said it made him so much more relaxed about the whole affair to just ignore the traditional deadlines and all.  I thought it was delightful to get a box full of Christmas wrapped gifts at such an unexpected time.

One of the gifts was the 1,332 page volume compiling all the Bone graphic novels (Bone: The Complete Cartoon Epic in One Volume (Vol 1)), which the resident kid immediately glommed onto and devoured in a couple days.  One of the questions that arose out of the reading was, "What is kwitch?"

"Huh?"

It turns out that she meant "quiche" as in what real men don't eat.  I tried to explain what it was to her, and pulled out my handy-dandy new Betty Crocker cook book and read the ingredients.  Being a kid that loves her eggs, especially as they are home grown and fresh as can be, she though quiche sounded lovely.  So started an new litany of "When are you going to make a quiche?"  with said question invariably coming at a time when I was in no mood for a new cooking adventure.  I actually surprised myself by setting to the task within a couple weeks, which, for me the procrastinator, was at light speed.

I had thought to make a relatively traditional Quiche Lorraine but it turned out that I had some leftover crab from when I splurged during a sale on crab legs.  (That was a lovely night actually, cracking crab while watching the Olympics.)  Onward!  I embarked on a three-hour jaunt into culinary limbo.

I could indulge my penchant for providing the gory details of my adventures that afternoon, but I will make a long story short by saying that I think I outdid myself.  The resident kid looked in the oven and got quite excited by the prospect of a pie for dinner.

The quiche itself looked pretty good in spite of the fact that the crust puffed and shrunk horribly when I pre-baked it.  The pie itself was light and fluffy and savory.  Resident kid ate for a while in silence until I asked her what she thought.  "It's like mucous." Pause, "The cheese is like mucous."

"Huh?!"

Upon questioning, I figure out that what she thought was cheese was the custard from the egg/milk mixture.  Once she found out it was basically baked egg, she ate it pretty heartily...after dousing it with ground rosemary, which is what she favors on her eggs.

While I enjoyed my portion, resident husband said, "It needs some kind of savory spice."

I considered this and offered, "Like rosemary?"

"Yeah, that would do it."

I finished my part and wondered if maybe a crab omelette would do next time...